Accepting the Impossible
by Ursa Dextra
Summary: Welcome to Night Vale: A fluffly li'l M-preg for you all.


_Everything I've ever done is finally paying off._

Carlos can count on his fingers the number of times he's felt like this before. His graduation ceremony, that was one; being selected from a large field of candidates to lead the team in Night Vale, that was a proud moment too. The first time he felt Cecil's head rest on his shoulder, as they sat together on the bonnet of his car outside Arby's. And now, nearly three years later, he is spending s quiet evening after work assembling some flatpack furniture, and feeling a very strong sense of accomplishment and contentment. A chest of drawers, a side-table for the armchair in the corner, and a baby's cot. All fitting just perfectly into the little room that grew onto the side of the house, just as Cecil's belly had begun to expand. It had all been very puzzling at first to the scientist, until he'd decided to try doing what everyone in Night Vale had told him to do from the start and just _accept_ it. It was happiness. It was his. He took it.

"Carlos? I brought you some coffee."

Carlos looks up from the screw he's tightening to find Cecil has come waddling into the room bearing a mug in each hand. He puts aside his screwdriver and presses a kiss to his boyfriend's cheek before taking one.

"You don't have to do this, Cecil. You're supposed to be resting."

"Oh, I just... I feel so useless, you know?" He sighs sadly, his gaze drifting floorwards.

"I'm sorry. I meant 'thanks for making me a coffee'. Come and sit down, tell me about your day." Carlos takes Cecil's free hand and helps him lower himself gently into the chair, then perches on the arm beside him and gently strokes his hair.

"I've not really done anything interesting. Just... knitting and things. Listening to my own show. Those interns they've got covering for me, they're terrible. Just_ awful_. They'll have lost all my listeners for me by the time I'm back at work. And I miss Khoshekh. Oh, how I miss Khoshekh... He's the only one who knows how I feel."

Carlos takes both the cups and places them on the table, then encircles Cecil's shoulders with arm and his baby-bump with the other. He holds him for several minutes, reassuring him that in a mere two weeks' time he will have a beautiful baby to show off to his colleagues and the station cat, and the listeners all know when he'll be back from his maternity leave. The invisible clock tower – very close by tonight – strikes eight. Darkness falls. Gradually Cecil eases out of his low mood and relaxes into the familiar comforting embrace that he taught Carlos to give, and to enjoy givng, when they were first dating.

"Thankyou," he whispers softly, "thankyou for being nice to me when I'm being miserable. It must be a lot to put up with."

"Don't worry, I know it's only... hormones. You'll feel yourself again when the little one's born. And you'll be a great Mommy. "

Cecil looks thoughtful for a moment. "It seems very sexist," he says at length, " that they don't let men carry babies where you come from. What do they think? Just because we don't have any ovaries or wombs, we can't get pregnant? Do they think we'll be bad mothers? _What_?"

"It's not that it isn't allowed. It's impossible."

"Even so, you'd think it would happen _sometimes_?"

"No, impossible things never happen there," Carlos sighs. He has tried, and failed, to describe what 'impossible' means to various denizens of Night Vale, and found that the concept is alien to them. They understand things not being allowed, but absolutely nothing is inconceivable around here.

"Because of science, I suppose."

"Yes, because of science. Science is a bit like the Council out there. Except, no-one makes it happen, it just happens naturally."

"Hmm." Cecil nods, and looks away. They've had this discussion before, and he still doesn't fully understand. "The furniture looks nice."

"It's nearly done. I've just got a couple of screws to put in, and it'll be ready for our little girl." He gently runs his hand around the bump. He can't wait to hold her. He's had a copy of the ultrasound picture clipped to a retort stand in his lab for over a month, and often gazes at it when he should be working. He's sure she has his chin and Cecil's eyes. Actually, a few of his colleagues had been very 'polite' about the extra eye, though Carlos is convinced she has three of the top six most gorgeous eyes in the world. Two more weeks to go.

"You're so clever at this sort of thing," Cecil murmurs, a little sleepily, snuggling close. "I'm so lucky - _We're_ so lucky – to have you."

"Here, drink your coffee." Carlos reaches for the cups, and the pair of them alternately sip their drinks and smile lovingly at each other. After another kissing fit, Carlos pulls away to finish off his work. Cecil watches him with interest from the armchair, and gives him a round of applause when all is complete.

"Oh, my perfect Carlos, you're wonderful!"

"Aah... shush."

"Help me up," Cecil says, holding out his hands, "and I'll make us some nachos, then let's cuddle up and watch a film in bed before we do the Bloodstone Ritual."

"Yeah, let's do that."

Carlos hauls Cecil and his inhabitant out of the armchair, and walks behind carrying the empty cups as he waddles into the kitchen. He lingers around, itching to help but not wanting to appear condescending as Cecil gets on with his cookery. He steps in only to pass things from low shelves and help with the selection of cheese (he has always found the pink and blue striped kind a little unappetising somehow.)

Retiring to the bedroom, Carlos helps Cecil off with his socks and jeans, and observes the migration of his tattoos. They've been circling his belly a lot these last eight months or so and giving off a faint light of their own, but they seem to have become more energetic lately.

"She wants to come out soon," says Cecil dreamily, a pinkish tinge glowing in his third eye, "I don't think she'll stay inside another two weeks. She's getting restless. She wants to see the world... she wants to meet her daddy. She can when you're coming home from work, you know?"

Carlos smiles fondly at this sentimental rambling, and passes Cecil his pyjamas before undressing himself. The only sound is the background hum of traffic and screaming from the dark city outside as the pair dress for bed and Carlos curls himself protectively around Cecil. He carefully cradles his arms under the weight of the baby. Cecil leans back against him and feeds him nachos. They don't put a film on, in the end, but just snuggle together peacefully for quarter of an hour or so, enjoying each other's proximity as they have done nearly every night since they moved in together, just over two years ago.

"She's happy now," murmurs Cecil softly, "she loves it when you put your arms around us both."

"Hmm?"

"She feels safe with you. She knows that you're kind, and brave, and clever. And she knows you'll protect her from all the hooded figures and librarians and things, and that you'll always love her and care for her like you care for me. And she..."

"Oh, stop!" giggles Carlos, burying his burning cheeks in Cecil's neck, "you soppy thing."

"It's true, though – I tell her all these things every day, when you're out at work. I want her to have something to look forward to on the outside. Life's terrifying if you have no-one to look after you."

"She has you too."

"I suppose so..." says Cecil, running a finger around the empty nacho bowl to scoop up the remnants of guacamole and sour cream. "...Don't let me fall asleep without doing the bloodstones again, will you?"

"I won't. I need to put the bins out and lock up, too."

"Hold me a bit longer, though?"

"Course I will."

Another five minutes or so elapse. A few coloured lights drift in front of the window, turning the room greenish-purple.

"You know earlier," says Cecil eventually, "when you were telling me what 'impossible' means where you come from, and I didn't really understand?"

"Mm?"

"Would you say it's 'impossible' that we'll ever stop loving each other?"

"Um... yes. Yes, that would be impossible."

"Ha! I made you say a soppy thing!"

"I suppose you did, well done." Carlos kisses Cecil again. He tastes mostly of guacamole. The two of them adjust their cuddling position until they're lying face-to face across the bed. Just for a minute or two longer. Or maybe five minutes. Ten minutes, tops. Definitely not as long as quarter of an hour. There's the bloodstone ritual waiting, and the bins to be put out of course. No-one can just lie around on the bed for twenty minutes, or half an hour even, when there are such things to be done.

Cocooned safely within Cecil's belly and the love-embrace of her parents, the baby flexes her tiny limbs and presently falls asleep.


End file.
